


Soft

by hailbabel



Category: Harlots (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Fluff/WAFF Wednesday, Harlots Week 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:33:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26752150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hailbabel/pseuds/hailbabel
Summary: A work-weary Charlotte happens upon a kitten in the street. Tired of hardening her heart against the cruelty of her profession, she gives in to the need to be soft and takes it in.
Relationships: Isabella Fitzwilliam/Charlotte Wells
Comments: 13
Kudos: 30
Collections: Harlots Week 2020





	1. Work, Work, Work

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a Tumblr request by romkole, though the idea has grown into a bit more than I planned.

Charlotte was exhausted. She closed the door behind the last cull of the night and sagged against it. The wood was cool against her cheek, with a slight film of condensation that the dropping temperature had pulled out of the air. Everything seemed slightly damp in the evenings and the feeling of it, on top of everything else, put her right between mildly annoyed and completely mental.

It had been a busy night, as she knew it would be. The house had rebounded nicely after the loss of… Well, Charlotte tried not to think about it too hard. Anyway, it had rebounded nicely, and the uptick of patrons at The Boar’s Head had brought a steady stream of gentlemen callers. It was because of this success that Charlotte spent her evening alternately shouting or hissing at culls and whores alike, depending on who was listening.

She was trying out a new batch of girls, two of which she already knew would be no good. She hadn’t been sure of them to begin with, but she needed girls, or there would be no custom. The one (the tall, pretty, blonde one) had skipped the little redhead in rotation and the two of them got into it fierce.

Her first clue that something was amiss wasn’t a sound or a flurry of motion, but rather a feeling in her gut. It was the feeling she got from being well in tune with the goings on of her house. Either something was too noisy, or too quiet, or too still, or not still enough when it should have been. The only way she could describe it was that the regular rhythm of the house was off and it stirred something around in her stomach.

She poked her head from out of the kitchen where she had been planning meals for the next week to find the two of them hissing at each other like wet, angry cats.

“You thievin’ slut, why don’t you just take the money from my purse next time?”

“You fuck like a sloth. I got to him first!”

Charlotte announced her presence with a discreet but furious ahem and hauled the both of them into the sitting room away from the eyes and ears of the men, and chewed them both out.

“Pull something like that again and I’ll have you both out. See how much your cunny sells for when you’re spreading it on the street,” she spat when she finished. Working up the vitriol for the proper tone was draining, but letting new girls think she was soft would take a lot more out of her, the house, and her pocket. So she sucked it up and played the villain. It was better for everyone in the end.

She gave them both a hard stare until they shuffled and looked down, muttering apologies.

This had been the first of a string of incidents that wore her down like the endless stream of boots on the cobblestones of London. After she shooed the two girls out to see to new customers, she split up a pair of gentlemen who were arguing over that curvy brunette girl she’d hired who was tactfully trying to explain that she could only see to one of them at a time. Charlotte had been able to swoop in and convinced one man (she wasn’t sure if he’d been next in line or not) to spend some time with Fanny instead.

After that, she answered the door for an unpleasant looking man that she was sure she was supposed to know. He was scowling in a way that said she owed him money.

“Ms. Wells,” he said in a familiar, nasal voice. Ah, that’s right. Mr. Burr. He’d replaced the window after a couple of street urchins broke it with a stray rock. He would be looking for payment.

Charlotte smiled sweetly and handled him just like a cull. She didn’t have the money today, she had paid rent and bought groceries, and had the dresses for her girls tailored and mended. But she did have plenty of comfort in the form of pretty girls. She had the tall blonde girl see to him for free. It wasn’t meant as a punishment for starting the squabble earlier, but it worked out just the same.

And this was all before noon. The real rush started later that evening, once her patrons had been well-watered at The Boar’s Head. Pa had been spending a lot of his time there facilitating boxing matches and running books on the outcome. It was a good setup for the tavern, and for Charlotte, as cheering on a close match left the men roused in a way she knew how to profit from. Pa made himself a good wage this way as well, and he enjoyed the work. It kept his mind off of Ma.

By the time the night was over, Charlotte had had to kick out more than one patron herself, and then have Pa “escort” out another. When he could spare the time, he’d make sure to pass by the house, especially after a particularly tense matchup that left the men with higher spirits than normal. He always did have good timing, and a keen sense for when trouble would start.

Just as Charlotte predicted, the tall blonde girl didn’t make it through the evening. She picked another fight, this time with the brunette, and managed to rip Charlotte’s shawl as she was breaking the two of them up. Charlotte chewed her out again for being such a warmongering girl, ordered her to change out of the dress she’d been given and kicked her out in the original rags she’d turned up in. A bit of bile rose up in her throat when she did it, but she knew she couldn’t keep the girl. She was worse than Emily Lacey for starting arguments, and not nearly as clever. So she steeled herself to the bitter taste and did what needed to be done.

When finally, finally, she snapped the door closed behind the last man, Charlotte found herself unduly annoyed at the pervasive dampness of London. But there was nothing for it. So, when she was sure that the man was long gone down the street, Charlotte poked her head out the front door to snuff out the lantern on her front step.

Darkness flooded to fill in the place where the lantern's swath of light had been. Charlotte blinked rapidly as the transition from light to dark left her momentarily blind. As she went to close the door, a shape resolved out of the darkness on the opposite side of the street. It was small and vaguely round, hunkered down between an empty barrel and crate that her neighbor had neglected to dispose of.

Two little pinpricks of bright green blinked at her. It was a cat. Or, more likely, a kitten, huddled in a shadow. This was not especially uncommon. The streets were full of stray cats and dogs and, for some reason, a flock of geese that seemed to be unattended. But tonight, maybe because she had had such a long, long night, seeing the little thing there tugged at her heart more than normal.

She hovered in the doorway, dithering between going in, or going to pick the thing up. It was probably fine there, she rationalized. Cats were very independent, after all, and could take care of themselves. And she could not take on the responsibility of another empty belly. Besides, it was probably wet and dirty, and Charlotte simply didn’t have the patience to deal with the muck.

Mind made up, she closed the door behind her, feeling only a little bit guilty about leaving the thing outside. She soothed her guilt by reaching into the pocket of her dress and running her fingers over the note she’d stashed there. It was the only piece of good news she’d gotten all day. The note was written on good, heavy parchment, and still bore the residue of a wax seal.

Amid all the chaos of her day, a courier had turned up in her house, thrust the note at her and disappeared before she’d had a chance to read the thing, much less reply. The parchment gave off the faint scent of lavender and the writing was a familiar, curling hand that made her heart feel light.

Dearest,  
Whatever challenge is in store for you, I know that you will overcome with kind and gentle heart. I look forward to when your light next graces my presence.

With tenderness,

Instead of a signature, a sprig of lavender was affixed at the bottom of the note. The two of them had decided that any letters they wrote each other should not be signed, but should bear a mark they would both recognize. Isabella sent lavenders, and Charlotte would send violets.

Charlotte smiled. Throughout the day, she had reached into her pocket and stroked the letter when she was feeling especially annoyed or angry. It didn’t fix any of her problems, but it made her feel better. Somehow, it made the day just a little less hard. The constant touching had battered the flower, but most of it remained intact and Charlotte pressed the rest of it between the folds of the note. She set it under a book at her desk to dry out so she might keep it.

She had many such notes with pressed flowers. At first she had kept them in a drawer, but decided they did nothing for her there. Instead, she had begun to leave them in places around the house where she might stumble upon them later. There were a few tucked into drawers on her desk, but also several stuck into her ledger, which was more likely than anything else in the house to give her stress. She had stuck one under a bottle of gin that sat atop a tall shelf in the kitchen until Lucy had stumbled on it and asked who was writing to her. After that, she decided to only hide them in places in her study. Lucy still snickered at her about it when she thought Charlotte wasn’t paying attention.

Charlotte looked at the ledger and rubbed a spot between her eyebrows with thumb and middle finger. No matter how busy the house had been, the ledger always bore the truth of just how close they were to poverty. She had enough money for the bills, the food, the clothing, and had even managed to put a small sum away for Jacob’s schooling. But something about seeing the actual numbers down in ink and paper, pinned down to a value expressed as a few digits made her acutely aware that just one mishap would sweep it all away.

She made a few marks in the book to account for their profits for today and sighed. She needed to decide what to do about the new vacancy, and find a way to pay Mr. Burr for the window. She wouldn’t dip into Jacob’s school funds, and she would need to add at least a couple of new outfits to their wardrobe soon to keep her girls in fashion and thus appealing. She could ask Pa, but she didn’t want him to know how much running the house was stressing her. She could even ask Isabella, but thinking about that brought up a tangled knot of feelings that she didn’t want to inspect too closely.

So she closed the ledger with a sigh, both relieved and exasperated, and decided that what she needed most was sleep. She was solving nothing by staring at the numbers, and all of her problems would still be there in the morning after she’d had some rest.

Morning dawns earlier and earlier, she thought as her eyes peeled open, feeling like someone had stuck sand down in the corners. The sun wasn’t quite up, but she could tell by the rapidly lightening portion of London visible from her open window that it wasn’t long in coming. Today was Monday, which meant that most of the day would be hers to do with as she wished, but she forced herself to sit up anyway. Laying in bed only left her room to think about all the things she had been avoiding by going to sleep in the first place.

While the house wouldn’t see much custom this early, there were a few nightwatch men that would be ending their shifts and looking for a bit of comfort. They would have spent the whole night dealing with the same rowdy crowd that Charlotte had, only they would have been unable to seek the same carnal pleasure as the tavern goers had.

Charlotte made the mistake of sleeping too late once and only once. A cull came looking for a warm welcome, and one of her girls was the one to answer the door. She attended him and sent him on his way without Charlotte being any the wiser. She kept the whole fee without giving a cut to the house, as is proper. At least, she tried to. Little Jacob, his ears always tuned to the sound of knocking at the door, mentioned at breakfast that a man had come through and the rest unravelled shortly thereafter.

Kicking the girl out had felt good that time, but only while she was actually doing it. Once the deed was done, she just felt bitter and betrayed, and somehow a little guilty. She had been unable to sleep in ever since.

She rinsed herself of last night’s grime and pulled her favorite shawl over her shoulders, her finger catching in the rip from last night.

Damn. She wiggled her finger in the ragged hole and made a mental note to patch it when she got a free moment.

She’d been in the kitchen helping herself to a heel of bread and a bit of cheese when Fanny appeared in the doorway. She never slept much later than Charlotte, though that was perhaps because Mr. Armitage, a regular of hers, was often working the night shift. It was not uncommon for him to visit her once his shift was done.

“‘Morning,” Charlotte muttered thickly around her breakfast.

“Good morning,” Fanny chirped back as though she hadn’t just worked all night and hauled herself out of bed to redress and be presentable first thing in the morning. Charlotte was grateful for her. She was cleverer than she let on by far and had proven to be a huge help in the running of the house. She kept a keen eye on their supplies, always knew who had seen what culls and for how much, and assisted in training all the new girls. She knew enough to watch the house if she had to and was the reason Charlotte could spare the time to be away on Mondays when business was slow.

“Gettin’ an early rise today, Fan?”

Fanny grinned sleepily as she took a bit of bread and shook the kettle to see if there was water for tea. It sloshed happily and she poured herself a cup.

“Oh, you know Mr. Armitage likes to see me after he’s had a late night.”

Charlotte felt a bitter twist whenever she mentioned the man. He’d tried to distance himself from her after Mercy was born, but, like every other cull who’d seen the same girl for too long, he wasn’t able to keep himself away. She had some feeling for him, and Charlotte wasn’t entirely sure it was good for her. But she kept this to herself. Fanny had found some happiness, no matter how tenuous, and it wouldn’t be fair of her to spoil it.

“Will you be okay to watch the house today, Fan? It was a long night we had yesterday. I know you were up later than any of the other girls.”

Fanny took a bite of bread and waved the rest of the slice dismissively toward Charlotte.

“No, I’ve got it. Take the day and get out of this house.” She chewed thoughtfully for a moment and then looked down into her tea. When she looked up, she said, “I know this place makes you crazy sometimes.”

Charlotte smiled, but didn’t look up at Fanny. “No more than harlotting ever does,” she said and hoped she sounded convincing.

“Anyway,” Fanny continued, not acknowledging Charlotte’s dodge, “your ladyship will miss you sore if you don’t go see her today.”

Before Charlotte could deny it, there was a knock at the door.

“That’ll be Mr. Armitage.” Fanny blushed a little, quaffing the last of her bread and washing it down with a quick sip of tea. She bounced on tiptoes as she exited the kitchen to answer the door.

Charlotte swirled her own tea as she prodded at the knotted feeling in her gut. She had insisted more than once that Isabella was not her beloved. But that would mean she was just a cull. And if she was just a cull, what was wrong with seeing her regularly? Still, she had tried to keep it to herself without guarding it like an absolute secret and thus drawing more attention to it. Because secrets, like the pox, traveled quickly around London.

The feelings that she had for Isabella were all wrapped up in that time she’d spent at Quigley’s wearing a false face. They were tangled and complicated, and no matter how she plucked at the threads of it or worked her fingers into the loops, they remained stubbornly wound around each other.

Before she could contemplate this any deeper, Fanny’s face appeared in the kitchen doorway, frowning.

“It’s Mr. Burr. He wants to talk to you.”

“So early? Does this man have nothing better to do?” Charlotte sighed. She wished she had put something stronger in her tea. She wished he’d just fuck off. But she stood from the table and went to her study and fished some coins from a drawer. By the time she presented herself at the door, she had screwed on a pleasant face. She could handle this.

“Mr. Burr, good morning,” she said in a practiced tone of familiarity.

“Ms. Wells. I haven’t the time to dally today. I’ve come about the fee you still owe for the window I fixed.”

Straight to the point. Cock.

“Of course,” she said. “I have it here.”

She handed over the coins, which he inspected with a downturned expression.

“This is only half,” he noted, his sour face going somehow more sour.

“And I’ll have the rest in a week.” Charlotte kept her expression mild, but it was an ordeal.

“I did a whole job for you, Ms. Wells, not half a job. I expect payment in full.”

“And I don’t give out cunny for free, Mr. Burr. So consider it interest on what I still owe. And at a steep rate, too. After all, two girls at once is quite expensive.”

Mr. Burr blanched. “I did no such thing,” he hissed, keeping his voice down and looking over his shoulder. Across the street, one of the neighbors was sweeping her front step, trying very hard to look like she wasn’t eavesdropping.

“Are you sure? Perhaps it was three of my girls? You have such an appetite. Unless that last one I saw wasn’t a girl?” Charlotte’s tone stayed sweet and polite, but her voice was growing louder as she spoke.

Mr. Burr blustered at her, tripping over words as he tried to drum up a retort. He, of course, hadn’t taken more than one girl at a time, and the insinuation that he’d taken a molly was rather a low blow. But the truth didn’t matter so much as him just getting off of her front step.

Charlotte leaned in, lowering her voice so that only Mr. Burr could hear.

“You’ve been enjoying the hospitality of my house for free, sir. I’d hate to besmirch your spotless reputation letting all of London know you can be bribed. You’ll get your whole fee. But only if you leave my house now and don’t come back for a week.”

The man could have eviscerated her with the hateful gaze he gave her, but he retreated so Charlotte decided to call it a win. Even if a bitter one.

She was about to snap the door shut on that horrible exchange when she noticed something off. A group of boys, perhaps three of them just a couple of years older than Jacob, were huddled in a group across the street. They had an excited kind of energy about them, the kind that young boys (and old men too, now she thought about it) got when they were up to no good.

Charlotte’s immediate thought was to shut the door and mind her own business. Whatever they were doing, she would not benefit from getting involved.

One of the boys looked up at her, and then whispered conspiratorially to his fellows, and they all shrunk down into a tighter knot as if to block her out completely.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Charlotte found herself saying in a voice that was half hers, and half her mothers. She marched across the street toward the boys, who looked up at her as though they could keep her at bay if they stood their ground. It almost worked. She didn’t want to be doing this.

Despite herself, she advanced like she wasn’t dreading where this day was going already. “Go on!” She shooed them like a pack of stray dogs. “Find something useful to do.”

The boys almost looked like they were going to simply stare her down. And then what would she be able to do? But she kept on, even when her confidence was flagging. She couldn’t be bested by some pre-teen boys. She was a goddamned Wells, and she wasn’t having any of this.

They scattered, finally, abandoning their sticks as they fled down the street. Where they had been was an indignant little ball of fluff that mewed up at her. It was the kitten she had seen from last night. She recognized it’s brilliant green eyes. It’s paws were tucked and it’s tail wrapped around itself so it was even tinier than she remembered. It was indeed as filthy as she had assumed, it’s fur wet and caked with mud. It’s green eyes were squinty and watery, and it’s chest rose and fell rapidly. Charlotte knew just by looking, just the way the boys had known, that if she left it there it would die.

She wanted to leave it there. Really, it wouldn’t be the most callous thing she had done in the last week, perhaps even in the last day. It would be easy. Just go back into the house and get dressed. Then she could go to Isabella’s and the boys would probably come back and finish it off. They hadn’t bloodied it, as far as she could see, but only harried it. But if they returned, they might not be so kind.

Charlotte sighed and stomped back into the house. She returned with a kitchen rag and scooped up the little thing. It mewed at being held, but didn’t otherwise protest. Even when she wetted a rag and scrubbed the filth away, the tiny kitten didn’t have the strength to put up much of a fight.

Charlotte inspected the drying ball of fluff when she was done. It didn’t have any fleas and it’s ears and teeth looked clear of mites or rot. Checking it over felt a lot like checking a prospective new girl, so she took a look between the thing’s legs and determined that it was indeed a female. So far as she could tell, anyway.

“Suppose you’ll fit right in, then,” she said to it.

The kitten blinked and didn’t otherwise respond.

Charlotte rolled her eyes, mostly at herself. She was talking to an animal.

“Well, stay there while I get changed.”

The kitten tucked it’s paws under itself, but didn’t move. It sat on the rag on a chair in the sitting room. It was the quietest place she could think to put it down without bringing it upstairs to her room.

When she came back from changing, it was still in the same spot, turning it’s round fluffy face to survey the room slowly.

“Don’t get too comfortable. You’re not staying here,” she said to it. The kitten turned and blinked at her, as if in a question.

“You’ll see,” Charlotte answered and scooped the little thing up again.


	2. A Soft Place to Land

The kitten shivered all the way to St. James. Charlotte wished she had kept it wrapped up in the rag, but she hadn’t realized just how skinny it was. It’s tiny little ribs felt spindly and fragile under her fingers. She thought about putting it in her pocket, but decided against it. It would certainly fit, small as it was, but she couldn’t see that being a comfortable ride.

She spent the walk trying to think of the right way to present the idea of a kitten to Isabella so that she wouldn’t be able to reject it. She could say it was a gift, but a live animal was a responsibility, not a present. Nevermind that it was starved and possibly on death’s door. She knew she would have to involve Sophia somehow, but that plan hinged on her actually being home and not away at school or visiting a friend.

By the time she reached St. James, Charlotte was no closer to a real plan and so she fell on her usual standby--wing it.

“Alright,” she said to the kitten. “Be cute. And don’t scratch her.” Charlotte considered a moment. “And try not to look like you hate everything. I swear, you could give Nance lessons.”

The kitten mewed and Charlotte rolled her eyes.

Charlotte could see by the look on Isabella’s face that this wasn’t going to be an easy sell. The two of them had on more than one occasion mocked Isabella’s peers for their strange attachments to their toy sized pets. More often than not, they were just as pompous and self-centered as their owners, and generally more ill-tempered. She had never said anything about wanting a pet herself, though, neither had she indicated that she didn’t want a pet.

It was a slim hope, but she decided to cling to it.

Isabella pursed her lips as Charlotte entered the sitting room. The expression lasted only a moment, but Charlotte didn’t miss it. Her eyes flicked from Charlotte down to the little ball of fluff in her arm, then back up. By the time her eyes came back up, she was smiling again.

“Charlotte, dear,” she said carefully. “What have you brought with you today?”

Isabella was curled up on the chaise, a book in her hand. This is where Charlotte often found her if she wasn’t in the library, or else out and about strolling in the park. It was a bright, airy room as most of the rooms in the house were. Where the estate had been grand and golden and intimidating, Isabella’s decorating of St. James tended toward feminine, and flowery, and bright. It made for a cozy, if still opulent home.

Charlotte smiled. It was hard not to feel content when she was with Isabella. Her troubles at Greek St. seemed especially far away when in her presence.

“I brought you a gift,” she said sweetly, sliding onto the chaise next to Isabella.

“A kitten?” Isabella marked her place in her book with a pressed flower and closed it in her lap. “This is… surprising.”

“You like surprises, don’t you?” Charlotte tucked herself next to Isabella, curling up and leaning against her. “Here, hold it. I think it’s a girl.”

She pressed the kitten into Isabella’s hands before the other woman could protest. The little thing looked up at Isabella and mewed its tiny mew.

Isabella petted it gingerly and pressed her lips together again. She looked from it to Charlotte as she tried to reconcile not wanting to care for an animal with just how cute the thing was.

“She is rather darling, isn’t she? Look at those eyes.” Isabella smiled softly as the kitten rubbed its face against her palm. “But we’re not really prepared to take care of an animal. I don’t know anything about keeping cats.”

“Not cats,” Charlotte said. “Just one! And it’s only a kitten, Isabella. Look how little she is. She needs a good home.”

“She is tiny. Where did you get her?”

“Does that really matter?” Charlotte tipped her head, leaning on Isabella’s shoulder as much to be cute as to avoid looking her in the eye.

There was a pause in which Charlotte dared to hope that her charm and that of the kitten was winning Isabella over.

“Charlotte Wells, are you trying to foist a stray kitten off on me?”

Damn. New plan.

“Just look at it, ‘Bella! It’s so tiny and frail.”

“It’s sick!”

“Exactly, it’ll die if we don’t take it in. I found it on the street and some kids were poking at it with sticks.”

“It will probably die no matter what we do. Look at it, it’s clinging to life.”

“Then it especially needs us! Besides, hasn’t Sophia always wanted a pet? She’ll love it.”

Just then, mercifully, there was a knock on the door and Sophia herself poked her head in. She was used to Charlotte’s presence by now and sometimes, just sometimes, even seemed to have warmed to her. She was an interesting girl. Alternately timid and bold, much like her mother. Similarly, Charlotte assumed her timidity was a front taught to her at school and utilized to keep others at bay.

“Mother. Ms. Wells,” she greeted them. “Am I intruding?” She blinked at them, and then, “Is that a kitten?”

“Yes,” Charlotte said, seizing on the opportunity. “In fact, we’re trying to come up with new names for it.”

Sophia perked up and crossed the room. This was it, this was the in that Charlotte needed.

“We are not,” Isabella countered. “We’re not even going to keep it.”

But it was too late. Sophia was lifting the little thing from Isabella’s hands and cuddling it to her chest.

“We’re not?” She looked from Isabella to Charlotte, frowning.

“Your mum doesn’t think you’re ready to take care of a kitten,” Charlotte said. Isabella shot her a sharp look. It wasn’t quite hate, but suggested that she might gently murder Charlotte if she thought she could get away with it.

“But, mum, it’s so small. Look, it likes me already. We just can’t put it out.” Indeed, the kitten had crawled up to Sophia’s shoulder and attached itself, curling up against her neck and purring. “Please, mum? Please? I don’t have any siblings and I’ve always wanted a kitten. I’ll take care of it, I promise!”

Charlotte had to fight down a grin. Sophia was doing all the work for her, and better than she ever could have managed.

“Look, Isabella. It loves her,” Charlotte said helpfully.

Isabella was quiet for a long moment in which the kitten purred thunderously. Finally, she sighed. “Alright, dear one. You can keep it. But you’re going to have to feed and care for it, and make sure that it doesn’t tear up anything in the house.”

“What are you going to call it?” Charlotte asked.

Sophia pondered this for a moment before she declared, “I’ll call it Muffin.”

“Well, that’s adorable,” Charlotte started to say.

“She can be Muffy for short.”

Charlotte laughed. And then she pretended to cough. Isabella thumped her soundly on the back, apparently to “play along”, which caused her to inhale her own saliva and cough for real. This went on for some minutes until Charlotte was able to compose herself. She and Isabella spent the better part of the afternoon convincing Sophia not to call her kitten Muffy and offering increasingly desperate alternatives.

They went through every typical cat name that Isabella and Charlotte could come up with, along with some truly ridiculous ones. Charlotte was particularly fond of “Grumpy”, but she was vetoed soundly. All of the food related names fell flat, though “Bean” had a rather nice ring to it. They went through every Shakespearean character the three of them could think of before moving on to all the known Greek and Roman deities.

“What about Persephone?” Isabella tossed it out casually.

The kitten looked up from the floor where Sophia had let it down to stalk a mote of dust. It sat up primly and mewed, the first sound it had made through the entire conversation.

Sophia knelt down and petted it, trying out the name again.

Persephone purred and Sophia seemed satisfied.

“Well, you’ll need to find her something to eat. You can’t be giving her the strawberries off your plate,” Charlotte said.

Sophia scooped up Persephone and smiled sheepishly.

“Oh, don’t give her ideas, Charlotte. She’s going to spoil the creature rotten,” Isabella said with an amused twist of her mouth. She had such a soft spot for her child that Charlotte was sure the kitten wasn’t the only one going to be spoiled in the end. Isabella sent Sophia to talk with the head maid and arrange for some suitable food.

Sophia chirped her thanks to her mother and Charlotte for the kitten, and bounced out of the room to do as she was told.

“You’re a terrible influence, Charlotte Wells,” Isabella said when her daughter had left the room.

“Oh, but I’m so very good at it,” Charlotte said with a grin. She leaned into Isabella as she said it, closer and closer until she could plant a kiss on her cheek.

The resulting smile she got made her feel warm from her toes to the tips of her ears. Isabella bit her lip and smiled, looking sheepishly away. The slow, pink blush that spread to her chest was especially endearing and Charlotte found herself staring. It was good to inspire a feeling so pure after waves and waves of bitterness.

“I’m glad you came today, Charlotte,” Isabella said, leaning against her, tipping their heads together. She sighed, a contented sound, and slid her hand into Charlotte’s. “Tell me, what adventures have you been up to?”

Charlotte grinned a twisted grin.

She leaned further into Isabella’s warmth, slipping both arms around her. With a nudge, she urged her to lay back against the arm of the chaise, Charlotte resting her head against her chest.

“Well, I blackmailed a man today,” she said lightly.

“Mmm,” Isabella hummed. “So that makes two people in one day!”

They laughed lightly together and Charlotte told her about how busy the house had been. About how hard the girls had been working lately, and how they were really starting to get their feet under them. How things were getting easier, even if she wasn’t sure she even wanted to be a bawd anymore. She even told her about the difficult things. Manipulating Mr. Burr into postponing her payment. About having to kick girls out or discipline them harshly. About how horrid it all made her feel to justify it as good for the house.

Isabella listened, stroking Charlotte’s arm, making the appropriate noises at the appropriate points of her stories. Charlotte was aware that she had her reservations about the business, but she always listened, even when there wasn’t much she could say in return. But that was enough. A sympathetic ear and a warm embrace was enough.

There was a sharp knock at the door and they both sprang apart on the chaise in a (disappointingly) practiced motion.

“Mum!” Sophia burst into the room, her mouth pressed into a trembling frown. “Mum, I think something’s wrong with Persephone.”

She had the kitten cupped in her hands where it lay limp and breathing hard, it’s eyes shut. Charlotte reached out to stroke it’s little head, but it made no move or sound.

Charlotte felt a bitter pang in her gut. She knew this might happen.

“It’s alright, dearest. She’s a determined little thing, she’ll be alright.” Isabella smiled encouragingly up at her daughter, but Charlotte saw the way Isabella looked past her, focusing on a point on the wall behind. She was lying. “Give her some rest in a quiet room. You’ll see.”

Another knock announced a maid with a message.

“For Ms. Wells, your ladyship. A Fanny Lambert says there’s a situation that requires your attention,” the maid said.

What shit timing, Charlotte thought. Well. There was nothing for it.

Charlotte thanked the maid and stood to excuse herself.

She couldn’t bring herself to break Sophia’s heart any more than her mother could, and offered her an encouraging smile.

“Your ma knows best. It’s all going to be alright, you’ll see.”

Sophia muttered an agreement and turned and left the room.

Isabella’s expression dropped into a frown as soon as the door was closed behind her.

“It’s not going to last, is it?”

Charlotte made a glum sort of noise in her throat.

“You know, with all the whirlwind of shit that’s been happening, I was really hoping it would,” she said. And then, “Sorry, that was more harsh than I meant.”

Charlotte stood from the chaise.

“I need to go for now. My house needs me.”

Isabella gave a sad smile and bade her goodbye with a chaste kiss. It sat light upon Charlotte’s cheek and the thrill it gave sustained her until she made it back to her house.

She was not expecting what she saw when she arrived. The blonde girl from the day before--what was her name? Bethany. Bethany was there, clinging to Fanny in the middle of the foyer and sobbing great big, loud sobs. Fanny was trying to convince her to at least get up off of the floor, but the girl wouldn’t budge.

“Charlotte!” Fanny said. “I didn’t want to send for you, but she won’t get up. I can’t even get a cull in the door, let alone into a bed.”

Charlotte’s immediate reaction was to be furious. How was she supposed to pay rent if this wailing, pathetic creature was blocking her custom?

But she just couldn’t sustain that fire. She sighed.

“Get up--get up, girl!” She reached down and hauled the girl up by the arm and into the kitchen. She pulled out a chair and made her sit. She looked more dirty and ragged than she had the night before when she’d left the house, cursing Charlotte’s name and promising to never grace her doorstep again.

Fanny, upon being freed from her grip, excused herself, looking ruffled.

“What do you think you’re doing here, then? I thought I told you to get out and don’t come back, and here I find you blocking my customers.”

Bethany sniffled and wiped her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she said between gulps as she tried to compose herself. “I couldn’t let her send me away. Ms. Wells, I can’t do another night on the street. I just can’t!” Her eyes were watery, puffy, and red and her dirty face was tear-streaked. “The men out there, they ain’t nice like they are in here.”

Charlotte had always had the protection of a house. Even when she was quarreling with her Ma or Quigley, she always had some place to go. But she had seen the girls who didn’t and how quickly their flames turned to ash.

“Please let me stay. I’ll do anything,” Bethany said and tears filled her eyes again.

Damn, Charlotte thought. Damn!

“I’ll be your best girl! I’ll give you a bigger cut! Anything, I don’t care, I just can’t go back out there.”

“No you won’t,” Charlotte said. “You won’t be my best girl, you’ll still vex me sore.”

Bethany broke down into sobs again.

“But you can stay,” Charlotte said over the noise, wishing she had started with that. “You can stay,” she said louder so the girl could hear over her own crying. “Provided you don’t start any more trouble. You’ll do whatever I say and take whatever I give. Come on, then, let’s get some hot food in you and get you cleaned up.”

By the time Charlotte got the girl sorted out and set her to work scrubbing baseboards it was already evening and business had picked up. Indeed, the house was inordinately busy for the next two days and Charlotte hadn’t the time to go back to St. James like she wanted to.

She couldn’t decide if this was better or worse. She didn’t want to be there if the kitten expired, but even while keeping busy she couldn’t help but feel guilty for foisting the thing on Isabella in the first place. She knew it was like to die, and she still let Sophia get attached. Manufactured it, even.

Well. At least she could help one person. Bethany worked from dawn to dusk and, through a monumental effort on her own part, had avoided trouble with the other girls by barely speaking two words that didn’t have anything to do with business. If nothing else, Charlotte was confident that she would behave for at least a little while.

It was late Wednesday evening before Charlotte had time to go back to St. James. She hadn’t heard anything about the kitten in the time she was away and was sure it must have died by now. She didn’t want to go back and face it, but she felt responsible for bringing it into Isabella’s home in the first place.

Charlotte let herself in, carefully shutting the door behind her. She really ought to talk to Isabella about getting a doorman that didn’t forget to lock the door when he retired for the evening. She dithered in the foyer. There were no lights lit that Charlotte could immediately see, but Isabella was rarely in bed yet, even this late.

She went with her gut feeling and tried the sitting room.

The hearth was glowing with the remnants of a fire, now burned down to coals. Someone had hauled the sofa closer to it for warmth. Upon it was Sophia, leaned against one arm with a bowl in her hands. Her head was tipped to one side, eyes closed, and she was breathing lightly. Next to her was Isabella, asleep sitting up, a kitchen rag in one hand, Persephone curled up on her chest.

Charlotte smiled softly at the two of them, hoping this meant what she thought it did. Upon closer inspection, Charlotte could see that bowl Sophia held had what looked to be some kind of chicken broth concoction. Charlotte took this from her and set it gently on a side table. She nudged Sophia until the girl's eyes opened.

Sophia blinked, eyelids heavy with sleep.

“You fell asleep, Soph. Come on, you should go to your bed.”

Sophia nodded, still looking a bit confused.

“How’s the kitten?”

“Much better,” she said. “Mum’s been up for nearly two days feeding and taking care of her.”

“You’re lucky to have her. Go on, then. I’ll get your mother up.”

Sophia nodded again, still looking quite asleep, and wandered out to ostensibly find her bed.

Charlotte closed the door behind her and went back to the sofa.

Isabella looked incredibly uncomfortable, sitting mostly straight up, asleep. And Charlotte promised to herself that she’d never mention to anyone how she was snoring softly, no matter how endearing it was.

“Isabella,” Charlotte said softly. She took the rag from her hand and set it aside, sliding in next to Isabella who didn’t stir. Her hair was in disarray, and Charlotte reached over to tuck a few stray curls behind her ear. “Isabella, dear. Wake up.”

She groaned softly in her sleep.

If this had been one of her girls, Charlotte would have given her a good shove and told her to head up to bed. But she couldn’t. She just couldn’t. Charlotte picked up Persephone gingerly. The kitten stretched and blinked bleary eyes at her. It yawned and curled up again, warm and purring. She arranged a couple of pillows behind her and tugged at Isabella’s arm.

“Come here, love.” Charlotte tugged at Isabella’s arm. She must have been exhausted, she didn’t even open her eyes. Isabella went willingly to Charlotte, wrapping her arms around her waist and tucking against her side. Charlotte in turn leaned back on her end of the sofa, cradling Persephone in one arm, and Isabella in the other.

Isabella whimpered, “Charlotte.”

“Yes, love?”

“Charlotte,” she said, still thick with sleep. “Love. Darling. Dazzling thing. Do something for me, please?”

Charlotte hummed a question. She was feeling quite warm and content. She could easily fall asleep right here.

“Don’t ever bring me a live animal again. Or I shall force you to stay up for two days making sure Hades doesn’t drag it to hell.”

Charlotte laughed quietly.

“Alright, love.” It was a simple request, really.

“Promise me.” Isabella burrowed further against her, her warm body fitting so comfortably against Charlotte’s side.

“I promise.”


End file.
